Nightmare Man: Part 5
by Jim King
Summary: Hey, it's been awhile since I've writtenanother chapter to te Nightmare Man series, but here it is again. Please R&R. thanks.-Jim King


Nightmare Man: Part 5  
  
  
Freddy turned the corner, his hand planted on the banister. Chuckling   
like a school girl, he swung around to meet the steep set of stairs. He stood there for  
only a moment, a slight case of vertigo cascaded through his mind coated with an oil  
slick of recognition. Freddy bopped his hat closer onto his head, shook both claws, and  
headed down the steps. The whole house looks brand new, He thought, gliding down each step.   
And then it happened. He boot landed on pink carpeted step, and didn't stop. Instead it sank  
into the step with a sickening squelch. He uttered a high pitched heave of air, and glanced   
downard. His leg was imbeded in a thick, gooey paste up to his knee, his leg sinking slowly  
into the step. "This all you got?" he screamed out to no one. "This it?!" And to prove his point,  
he extended the other leg, and planted it on the step below, his boot also sinking into it.  
He struggled a bit, lifted his leg from the staircase "quicksand" and slammed it onto the next  
available step, giving way in a splash of pink ooz. "I'M STILL GOIN!" He shouted, his   
dry voice echoing throughout the house. With a grunt of stisfaction, he lifted his other stained  
boot, thick, pink quicksand dripping slowly from the edges, and stepped onto the next pasty platform,  
sinking into it like the others. "I AM BETTER THAN THIS!" Freddy hissed, and chuckled madly.  
Planting his left hand on the wall, and his right on the stair case, he clenched his teeth, and pushed.  
A thick splat! issued forth as Freddy shot forward, out of the steps, into the air, and into the foyer,  
just below the staircase. Regaining his wits and adjusitng his hat, he looked down at his pants,   
pink slime covered his leg up to the knee, and matted the fabric to his legs. His boots made loud  
sqeeks if he twisted them. Behind him, a shadow lurked in the small window imbeded in the door.   
"THAT'S IT?" He repeated. "A little bita sticky carpet?!" He laughed aloud again. He felt invgorated,  
alive, well. So what if he was born in 1942? so what if he was, in real life, a crusty old man of sixty?   
Who gave a flying--A hand shot through the glass. It found Freddy's shoulder, wrapped itself about him,  
and pulled him closer to the door. Freddy wringled in it grip, the arm holding him tight against the door.  
A loud crack resounded, followed by another arm, this time breaking a fresh hole in the door itself.  
This hand was covered in a gleaming claw, and it wasted no time in finding it's destination. The arm  
embedded the gleaming claws into Freddy's side, his body lurched toward the blades, his mouth opening  
in a silent scream. His hat yet again gave a shudder and fell to the floor, as the fingers of steel   
wriggled farther and farther into Freddy's side. Exhaling, Freddy lifted his right hand, and, through  
stinging tears, thrusted it into the arm that held him in an iron grip to the door. He forgot about the  
white hot pain in his side as he dug deeper and deeper into the arm. He began lifting and lowering his glove,  
slowly sawing into the arm with agonizing ferocity. Freddy even began hissing and chuckling as screams  
began to pour from behind the door, as the bright blood splattered the white walls and dripped in thick  
beads onto the floor, as his claw finally met bone and began to saw through that as well. The screams turned  
to downright yelps of terror, and now Freddy held the bleeding, gutted arm closter to him. A deafening, sick  
crack soudned, more blood issued forth and a final scream echoed as the hand, all the way up to the wrist  
fell and wringled on the blood soaked floor. The rest of the arm tore away and out the small window.   
Freddy stepped forward, blood forming beads on his chin, and dropped. His right glove also seemed to be  
bleeding itself, and all he did was laugh. He turned in time to see the front door's hinged crack, and   
a tall, muscular teen missing his left arm to the wrist breaking through, dust and chips of paint flying   
into the air. It was Rod Lane, Tina's boyfriend, and yet another early victim of Freddy. "LOOK WAHT YOU DID  
TO MY ARM, KRUEGER! LOOK WHAT YOU DID YOU SICK-!" Freddy's eyes widened as Rod lurched forward,tackeling  
him so hard into the wall beside the steps that the paint cracked and Freddy's head lolled. His back   
rippled with stinging pain, and he crumpled to the floor. He rolled over, the pain almost already   
replaced by anger and hate. Rod pulled a switch knife from his back pocket, smiled, and fell atop Freddy.  
He sliced into Freddy's back, Freddy arching forward in pain, crying out. "YOU LIKE THAT KRUEGER?!" Rod  
screamed. He pulled the knife from Freddy's back, and raised the knife again, ready to strike.   
Freddy lurched sideways, swung his left claw, and swiped it across Rod's face, blood flying in a streak  
as Rod fell backward. Freddy stood shakingly, and watched as Rod stood, and narrowed his eyes. He raced  
forward, lept into the air, the knife poised to slice. Freddy spun sideways, held his claw high, and smiled.  
Rod let out a rough screech as he flew forward. He fell onto the claw, neck first, crushing his windpipe,  
ripping right into his Adam's Apple. He dropped his switch blade as his body hung in mid air, twitching,  
both hands gripping to Freddy's wrist. A warm flow of blood erupted from his mouth, onto his face, a ran   
down his chin and down his ragged gray T-shirt. His eyes protruded, his tounge lolled, and he screamed as  
blood spurted from the holes in his throat and more of the same red liquid escaped his mouth. He gagged, choked,  
and fell limp as he hung in the air. Freddy held Rod high, his arm barely trembling. He laughed a cold,  
deadly laugh, and jerked his claw away, Rod falling and crinkling to the floor. His arms and legs fell limp at his sides  
as more and more blood ran from the wounds. Freddy looked at his glove, staring in awe. He lowered it, approached  
the door, retrieved his hat, and slammed it onto his head, his back and side still aching, but his spirits high. If only his  
real life could be so grand. Freddy turned the corner into the living room. 


End file.
